Perfectly Perfect
by hayley.moses
Summary: Alfred Jones. He is perfect. While I... am not. But, what could he possibly want to do with me? The school's one and only bitter and sarcastic British girl.


Chapter One: Jehovah's Witnesses and Toast

Ah, yes hello again, I am back with yet another story. It's fem!England and male America though. Anyways, feel free to correct my French, comment and generally just enjoy my newest piece of work, and my first hetero fanfic.

* * *

"Hey, hey, hey, Alice!" I look up from out the public transit window to look down at my younger brother, who is wildly gesturing towards two well-dressed guys around my age. I raise and eyebrow and he says, "Aren't those the two nice Jehovah's Witnesses you were telling me about?"

"Oh. My. God. Peter, shut up! Shut up shut up!"

Of course, he won't and eventually the two look behind to stare down the aisle at us. While Peter keeps going on and on all I can do is collapse into the seat with shame and pray we get to the store quickly.

* * *

I don't have a car. It's not that we can't afford one, I'm in a sort of mom-and-dad-are-getting-divorced-I-have-to-babysit -my-brother-24/7 thing. Don't get me wrong, it's not that I hate my brother, actually I talk to him as though he were my age. So, he knows everything. All of my secrets, more than anyone else does. Anyway, when we got to the store I practically dragged Peter off the bus and ran into the place. My stupid twelve-year old brother likes to switch between acting like a mature seventeen-year old (the same as me) and the still not quite grown-up twelve year-old he really is. It's only amusing in the privacy of our own home though, like when we make whale noises while watching _Finding Nemo_ or dramatically reenact scenes from Disney movies together in our sitting room. Which is always hilarious. Whenever we watch _Hercules _I sing 'I Won't Say I'm In Love' and Peter sings the part of those sassy muses on the vase.

"Hey, Allie,"

"Peter, I have told you a hundred times. Don't call me 'Allie'."

"Ugh, fine. _Alice _what are we going to watch tonight?"

I stop pushing the cart for a moment to think. I've been so absorbed in shopping and finding all of the things we need at home that I completely forgot about our annual movie night. Okay, annual as in every night but it never loses it's fun-ness.

"Hm, I was looking through Netflix on the Wii yesterday and they added_ The Prince of Egypt. _We could watch that. It's really good."

Peter looks from me to the floor then back up to me again with his thinking face. To anyone else it would look like he's pouting but I know for a fact that he's just debating on it. His nose sort of crinkles up a little and you can see his dimples as his mouth curls up and down. He looks me square in the eye and asks: "Do they have _Paint Your Wagon_?"

I frown, and shake my head. I say, "I don't think so." as I pick up half a gallon of milk. 2% low-fat. Just as Mom asked for. Recently, everything is "just as Mom asked for". If Dad hadn't done the _thing. _Then I wouldn't be forced to bend to Mom's will left and right. And, y'know there wouldn't be the massive amount of personal issues. You know, mental health, the fact that my friends are on the internet and I can't seem to get along with anyone but my twelve-year old younger brother, Peter.

Yep. I, Alice Kirkland, am a heap of trouble. That, I know for a fact will never be bothered by any boy ever again.

Peter nudges me and whispers, "Holy shit. Alice! Allie! It's _him!" _

"Peter what the bloody hell are you talking abou-" Oh. My. God. It's him. _Him. _Alfred Jones. Tall. Blond hair. Eyes as brilliant blue as the sky and as deep as the bloody ocean. _Perfect._

He is also the complete opposite of me. While I am a mess of barely perfect grades, deep personal issues, icky light-honey colored hair, funny looking green eyes, and God awful glasses. Did I mention the self-image issues? Anyways, he is perfectly perfect and I am nowhere near it. He looks over and smiles at me. I almost drop the glass bottle of chocolate milk I'm holding. Oh. My. God. Oh. My. God. He's coming this way. If there were ever a fantastic time for Franny to bother me now would be it. I am literally standing here staring at him as he walks towards me ready to turn around and run away screaming.

My phone starts violently vibrating and playing the _Fish Heads Song_. Why is Peter calling me? I swear he was-I look to my left and Peter is gone. I answer and am about to hiss _where the bloody hell are you!_ when he says, "Pretend I'm Françoise, don't ask questions. Just do it!"

Alfred keeps coming closer and really, I have no choice. In a strangled voice I nearly shout, "Oh, Franny how lovely to hear from you." I pause and start to spurt out rubbish. "Yes, I have that scones recipe you wanted. Oh, absolutely. I'm at the store right now actually. How have you been? Really? Matthew said that? That's absolutely lovely, I'm very happy for you."

Luckily for me, Alfred doesn't know much about the relationship between Franny and I. If he did, I would be so incredibly fucked. See, Françoise Bonnefoy and I have a fairly complicated friendship. Usually if she had called me at a time like this, I would have been nowhere near this civil. I would have asked her what the bloody hell she wanted, why she was bothering me, that I was busy, and to go bugger off and bother someone else. Every now and then Peter will say that I'm doing good and that I should do this or that. _Lean up against the cart a little, make it look as though you intend to talk for a long time. _He finally is by my side-Alfred not Peter-and is sort of... Standing there, with his eyebrows raised and hands in his jacket pockets. Heaven help me is he handsome. He cocks his head to the side and makes a pleading face that I honestly cannot resist. I say a quick good-bye to 'Franny' in my _help me!_-voice.

I look over and say in a strangled voice, "Yes? Is there something you want from me?"

He raises his eyebrows behind those square glasses and nods.

"Well, what is it?" My exasperated voice is shining through and if I scare him off...

He clears his throat and says, "You're Alice right? Alice Kirkland?"

"So what if I am?" now I am being sarcastic. Jesus Christ above Alice!

He looks down at the floor before saying in a voice I can hardly hear, "Uh, uhm," he's nervous. But, why? I mean, I'm just some girl he barely knows. "I was wondering if you know anything about the essay we have to write in history class? From what I've seen you're very smart."

Oh fuck me. Just fuck me.

* * *

Finally at home, I moan into a pillow, "Oh my god Franny, all he wanted was to know about _homework! _For God's sake..."

Franny laughs, and says, "_Ma chèrie amie _that is absolutely _épouvantable. _Perhaps you need to find yourself a better _amoureux, non?" _ I throw my piece of toast at her.

"Franny, how many times do I have to tell you that even though I understand French, I would very much prefer you didn't use it in your sentences. It throws me off sometimes. Besides, people stare when we're out in public." She just laughs, and tosses her rose at me. She always seems to be carrying one where ever she goes. It's weird. Franny is also, very very _very _elegant. Which I constantly strive to be, but it's like someone takes over and I come off as cold and sarcastic. Maybe I'm schizophrenic. Who knows.

Franny comes over and hands me a mug of hot tea from the table, with two lumps of sugar the way I like it and pats my head. "Don't worry _chèrie _it will get better."

I pout into the pillow. "How the hell do you know."

She laughs again. "Because I am French. French is the land and language of love, _non?_"

I snort and retort, "You are so utterly full of shit."

The two of us look at each other and laugh, because I mean, why not? Franny and I have been friends for ages upon ages. She was the first person to actually try to talk to me at school, everyone else stayed away. Saying things like "bitter" and "sarcastic", to them I was just a bitter and sarcastic British girl who moved to America and was hating every moment I spent in the bloody country. Franny came up to me out of the blue one day during lunch and just started to casually talk to me while everyone else stared. Ever since then we've been friends. What's miraculous is her ability to remain friends with me even after all the issues that stemmed after Dad went to prison, she's been there through all the stages of denial and anger and depression until finally I am who I am now. Peter says he doesn't remember much of it and I tell him to be very thankful for that.

Franny looks around my room after we finally get over our individual laughing fits and remarks about how clean my room is. I tell her that it's because I couldn't sleep and had the motivation very early in the morning to clean it and generally adjust the furniture. I got up and did it but even after that, going into the sitting room and doing several yoga routines, then also going outside for a light jog I _still _couldn't sleep. I am starting to think that my body is dependent on supplemental melatonin to be able to fall asleep. Something I'll have to take back up when school begins again.

"You know, Franny, I haven't done a single notable thing over the summer."

"How do you mean m'mie?"

I prop my head up with my palm and start, "Really, all I've done is babysit Peter, reenact movies with him, and go to the store. Oh, and sometimes visit the public library other than that I have literally done nothing but sit at home. It's not natural, or healthy," I sigh before continuing the thought with, "I just feel like I should have gone off and actually done something useful."

Franny tilts her head to the side a little and purses her lips a little bit. "Aren't your parents going through a divorce right now?"

"Yeah, so? That isn't a very good excuse to not do anything all summer."

Well, in hindsight of having had said that, your parents getting divorced really is a good reason to do nothing all summer but I get the feeling that I should be more proactive about it. I sigh and roll over onto my back, I can hear Franny shuffling about and rifling through her rucksack for something before a candy bar is dangled in front of my face.

A king size KitKat. The special kind though, all fancy and from Canada.

"My mom just came back from Canada and brought a bunch of these back with her. She says that you can have as many as you like."

I grab it and murmur, "Franny, your mum is absolutely fabulous. Thank you thank you!"

We split the sweet, half and half, while dangling our legs out my bedroom window and staring into Mr. Nextdoor's sitting room. It's fairly amusing, watching him try to get his fat arse in and out of the poor chair. Sometimes Franny and I will make up conversations between Mr and Mrs. Nextdoor while we watch them. Usually, I'm Mr. Nextdoor and she is Mrs. Nextdoor and they tend to get sort of funny. Really, they're asking to be spied on. Who decides to have their sitting room on the second floor anyways? Fools. This particular evening is fairly amusing, from my window you can clearly see them arguing even without binoculars. Mrs. Nextdoor is pointing at the telly a lot and Mr. Nextdoor looks annoyed. It's like having your own personal soap opera that you can watch whenever you want, except you make up the words.

"Today on _The Nextdoors _our dear Mister Iggy Bigeyebrowserton Nextdoor comes home to find-"

"His wife! In the sitting room with her secret lover! Look at her now telling her husband-"

"You never loved me! No one ever loved me! Only Tedd understands me! Don't you Tedd!"

"Oh but yes, my darling, I, the wonderful pool boy Tedd understand you more than anyone else ever could. Mr. Nextdoor won't have any of it saying-"

"Bloody bastard wife! Go on then, go off with your oh so dear 'Tedd' and have a bastard child. Like I care! I've only loved you for twenty-three years!"

"But, that was so long ago, we were merely children back then! Can you not see now Iggy Bigeyebrowserton that our marriage has lost its spark! And what about you and your affair with your clerk at work?"

"That was a misunderstanding! You se-dammit, she left the room before I could finish. Fairly eventful day for the Nextdoors, huh?"

Franny laughs and nods, "Remember when we would do this everyday? Their lives always became more and more complicated."

I chuckle and whisper, "Let's go find something to eat, all this drama is making me hungry."

* * *

Franny goes back to her home sometime later, and Mum went out for the evening. So, I made beef stew and Franny made French bread to go with and this dipping thing made out of a bunch of spices and oils. Peter said that it was very good even though the stew tasted a little funny, he also said my cooking has improved. I threw a piece of bread at him and it hit him square on the cheek. The entire scene sent us all into peals of laughter and after dinner we all hung out in the sitting room and reenacted _The Prince of Egypt _together. The beginning song, 'Deliver Us' was incredibly dramatic and moving, Franny and Peter are very good at singing. I was the only who could sing the Hebrew parts though. Anyways the song goes a little like this,

_Mud... Sand... Water... Straw... Faster! _

_Mud...And lift Sand...And Pull Water...And raise up... Straw... Faster! _

_With the sting of the whip on my shoulder _

_With the salt of my sweat on my brow_

_Elohim, God on high_

_Can you hear your people cry:_

_Help us now_

_This dark hour..._

_Deliver us Hear our call Deliver us Lord of all_

_Remember us, here in this burning sand_

_Deliver us_

_There's a land you promised us_

_Deliver us to the promised land..._

All in all, it's incredibly moving and I have the song on my phone. The song brings me to tears at some parts, Franny and Peter never said a word though. Anyway, we reenacted every song in the movie and before Franny left she said that we need to do this again sometime very soon. Both Peter and I agreed and the three of us said good night. I don't think I have gone to bed in such a pleasant mood for a long long time.

* * *

Mum got home the next morning in the most foul of foul moods. The moment she stepped in, there was lots of yelling and I pushed Peter into his room and told him not to come out until I said so. Mum came upstairs and immediately instigated a row. I honestly tried my best to diffuse it and keep myself calm but... When she started in on me being depressed and the other vast amount of personal issues I have that is when I couldn't take it anymore. My screaming began, shrill and ungodly. All kinds of things were coming out of my mouth before I could even think or stop them.

_This is your fault! Do you think I like this? Do you think I enjoy watching my family suffer! Do you think that this is fun for me? Would you like to see the list of issues that you have created! For Christ's sake! If it gets worse only God will know what I will wind up doing! Why don't you stop all this! Quit dragging things out! Didn't this begin because Dad was ruining our lives? _

_Just end this already! Stop making things so difficult! _

Whenever I get angry I seem to be unable to control myself. Screaming, throwing things, crying. Then, when it all ends I sink down into depression. I sit curled up in a ball under the blankets of my bed in my room. Saying nothing, refusing to check my phone, or to answer Peter when he calls out to me. It's as though I disappear off the face of the Earth until I finally begin to feel better. Peter says that when I come out I look like I've died, something about looking gaunt, tired, then generally dazed and not well. I can feel myself coming towards that state of depression and I _need _to get out of here. I need to remove myself from the situation but, I can't seem to just yet. Mum is standing there staring at me, as though she can't believe what just happened. My entire being tenses, waiting for her response.

But for once, I get nothing. Nothing at all. I don't understand... I think that fight or flight instinct kicks in because I take her apathy as the perfect opportunity to turn around and run to my room, skirt flaring up all over the place and shoes making squelching noises against the hardwood. I slam the door shut and lean up against it, panting.

Oh my God. What have I gotten myself into?


End file.
